Lost
by Gender Outlaw
Summary: Jonathan loses something important.
1. Chapter 1

"Hold up guys," Delirious yells into the chat. "Cartoonz is calling me."

And sets his controller down to pick up his phone, spinning in circles in his chair, legs kicking as he unlocks the screen.

He can hear his friends voices from the computer behind him, yelling as he was the one driving the car in GTA and now everybody is screaming and bailing out as the car goes flying off a cliff.

Delirious watches and giggles, then answers the phone. "Hello?"

Luke is out of breath, as if he had been running, and Jonathan can hear him pacing back and forth through the call. "Finally! It's about damn time Jon! I've been worried sick."

Delirious has a sinking feeling rolling down his back and stops spinning, dropping his feet to the floor with so heavy a sound the chat goes silent for a moment. He scrambles for the mouse, trying to mute the Skype call. He knows what this is about.

"Jon." Luke has stopped pacing and must have the phone closer to his face because he is much louder now and his deep heavy breaths come through much clearer. "Are you alright?"

"Delirious?" Evan softly asks, not wanting to interrupt.

The same blip shows on all of their screens as Delirious exits the chat.

He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his words as he tells Cartoonz, "I'm fine. I was just playing a game with the guys." He thinks of asking Luke to join, but knows in his gut that would be bad. Luke sounds too concerned right now to not say something and he'd rather no one know what was going on.

"You're –" Luke just sighs. "Jon, tell me the truth. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine, man. I swear." Watching his friends move in GTA, his character still standing there.

Luke wants to believe him. "I know you're a big boy now and all that shit, Jon. But I just heard about it. Your mom and your sister.."

"Died." Jonathan finishes, softly.

"Did they find out who caused the accident?" Luke wonders, his words searching.

"I.." Jonathan leans forward, resting his head in his hands. "No. I don't know. I don't really want to talk about this now, ok?"

"Sure, sure." Luke's voice is warm. "I'm just concerned, alright? You know you can talk to me any time right?"

"Yeah," Jonathan whispers. "I know."

There is silence on the other end as Jonathan just sits there, hunched over, holding the phone to his ear and waiting.

"But.." Luke thinks, not wanting to leave and not wanting to push all in the same moment. "But you're in a game right now?"

"Yeah." Jonathan breathes. "GTA."

"You're.. getting good footage?"

Jonathan nods. Then remembers to speak. "Yeah.. We–" His voice hitches involuntarily. He clears his throat and finishes, a tad rough. "We were testing out a glitch and I was driving." There is more but, he can't continue.

"Okay." Luke says gently. "Go back to your game Jon. I'll be home soon."

"Don't," Jonathan pleads. "Don't abandon your con for me. You need this for your channel. You need the interviews."

"I need you!" Luke shouts into Jon's ear, making him flinch. "I don't give a goddamn about any of this shit if you're not around!"

"I'll be fine!" Jon cries out. "You said it yourself, I'm grown now. I can handle this on my own. Even if it's just for a few days. Please. Please Luke, don't give it all up just for me."

Luke is breathing heavy and fast, but listens.

"It's just for a few more days anyways, right? I'll be fine. I promise." Jon bites his lip, leaning against the phone cradled to his ear as if he was leaning on Luke himself.

"And besides," he tries one last tactic. "I've got the guys too, if.. Anything. If I.."

Luke mutters something too low for Jon to fully catch. Then audibly gives in. "Alright Jon. I'll stay. But you.. Take care of yourself okay? And call me, please."

Jonathan smiles. "I will. I promise."

"Good." Luke's voice is warm. "Now go back to your game. I'll see you.."

"Later," Jonathan finishes. And hangs up.

He stares at the computer screen. His character still just standing there, and he feels something itch on his cheek. He lifts a hand to brush at the sensation and his arm comes down wet.

Tears. He's crying.

Delirious forces a smile, and dries his face in his shirt. Rubbing the fabric against his eyes harder than he should, but the physical pain helps smother the emotions.

He reconnects to Skype, and tries to slow down his breathing.

"Hey guys!" Delirious calls out, as if he had never left.

"Delirious!" Come a multitude of joyous cries. One in particular asking over a sharp _'Evan'_ , "Hey, you alright man? You left kind of fast there."

Nothing. Everyone is holding their breath and waiting for Delirious to say–

"I had bad gas," And laugh a little. Marcel cracking up over Delirious' continued "I didn't think you wanted to hear that, sorry."

Evan chuckles, and asks, "What about Luke? He seemed kind of concerned. Is everything alright?"

"Evan!" Nogla yells. "I'm pretty sure that was a private conversation. If he wanted us to know he'd let us. We don't need to be butting in."

"Besides," Marcel adds. "You don't need to worry about Delirious. He's a tough little bitch."

"Gee thanks guys," the man in question laughs.

"No, but seriously," Marcel finishes.

Evan has to know. "Everything is okay then?"

"Yeah," Delirious agrees. "Luke just called to check up on me. I got bad food poisoning from this restaurant nearby. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"We'll boycott it," Evan grins.

"Alright!" Nogla shouts. "That's enough of that! Let's get back to doing this stunt."

All his friends characters start running away from him to the freshly spawned vehicle in the game, and Delirious takes a moment to wipe again at the still falling tears with his shirt before joining them.

His face hurts, but still he holds the smile. Trying to mean it.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun has just begun to rise when Jonathan falls into his bed, weary deep in his bones so far down that all he can do for the longest time is lay there, and breathe.

His ears buzz with the unnatural silence of his mother's house. And though he knows it is a futile attempt, still he listens for her footsteps. The soft slide of her hand running against the wall as she passes his room.

Laughter in the kitchen as she makes breakfast. The smell of sausages frying in pans.

Trying so hard to make it real, the static fills his head. He turns his head and presses it into the pillow, frowning.

The door across from him doesn't slam shut, and his sister doesn't run down the hallway, her voice echoing against the old wood walls.

He is alone, and the thought is terrifying. It consumes him from beneath.

The morning sun warms his back, and it almost feels like a hand is pressing there against him.

But still the house is quiet and empty.

He grumbles, wordless noises rolling through his throat as his feet kick out, push the blankets off the bed. He turns and turns again, tossing through the remaining sheets. His legs get tangled and he stops, frustrated.

His is on his back, staring at the ceiling.

The white stucco is dusty already, cobwebs from days ago growing in the corners. He meant to clean it yesterday.

Tomorrow.

Maybe then. Even though deep in his heart where things he doesn't want to lay voice too, a different answer surfaces.

The ceiling fan is still, and Jon stares at it until the image of white motionless blades is embedded against the back of his skull when his eyes involuntarily shut. Dry and twitching from being open so long.

He lifts his arm to rub against them with the tips of his fingers.

And falls asleep, just like that, the daylight shadowed by his hands resting against his face.

His chest moves as he burrows deeper into sleep.

.

Half-aware of what's around him in the way surface dreams leave you, Jonathan can hear the doorbell ring.

He frowns, and refuses to get up.

Someone else will answer the door after all.

He shifts, and his hand falls off his face, numb from the awkward angle. It rests heavy against his chin and his breaths are just beginning to even out again.

Without the comforting darkness of his hand blocking it out, the sharp light of early afternoon burns through his eyelids and into his skull.

Jon squints his eyes tighter shut, trying to force it out.

When like a bulb breaking inside his head, he remembers where he is, and sits up. Shoving the emptiness to the back of his heart like it was a thing that could just be brushed aside.

It's probably Luke.

Jonathan throws the covers off him, ripping his legs out so fast that he trips and falls off the bed, landing on his face.

He rolls across the floor to the background sound of a fist hitting the front door. The person on the other side of the door is getting frustrated and knocks once more before stopping.

He throws open the door to his room, running down the hallway, thick thuds of his bare feet hitting the floor echoing up and down the house.

Instead of walking around it, he jumps over the couch, one hand pressing the fabric down as he swings his body over in a smooth leap.

And he is still running when he reaches the door, moving so fast that he slams into it, unable to stop. His chest sore from the sudden impact, Jonathan rubs his heart and backs away from the front door enough to grab the knob, and turns it.

And he is standing on his mother's front porch, shirtless in the early autumn air, dressed in just a pair of blue boxers when the lack of Luke finally processes itself through his brain.

Oh. Right. It's only been a day. Luke is still on the other side of the country.

And rubs his chest again, his heart hurting in more ways than one as he looks down, still holding onto the door, moving to turn back inside when he sees it.

A small yellow manila envelope is tucked into one corner of the welcome mat.

Jonathan bends down to pick it up, stretching to reach as one hand clings still to the door knob.

Squatting, his knees almost touching the ground, he reads the writing on the front. It's addressed to a "Madam Smith". His mother.

Delirious doesn't know what to do.

His fingers play with the door lock as he holds the envelope. Rocks forward, rocks back. Then stands.

He steps back into the entrance of the house as he slips a finger under the clasp and begins trying to break the package. Delirious is leaning on the doorframe as his movements get more hurried, frantic for something words can't yet describe.

The seal rips open, and with it the top of a few pages.

His hands tremble as he reaches inside, sweaty fingers sticking to the paper as he pulls out what's within.

Heavy documents. Tiny font, so small he has to squint against the afternoon light to see clearly. And numbers.

A bill.

But a bill so large that it comes with a court summons attached to it.

Jonathan just stares at the rolling numbers and whimpers. First mortgage, second mortgage, third mortgage, late payments, _debt._ Overdue.

The words edge along his throat as he leans into the door and struggles just to breathe, overwhelmed so hard he can barely think straight all he sees is black and white, numbers and names.

 _"I don't make that much money."_ He doesn't have that kind of money, how could it come to this? Why didn't his mom say something before?

He slides down the doorframe, and sits there, on his ass in his underwear in the middle of the day where the lord and all the world can see him, and cries.


	3. Chapter 3

The house is dark when Delirious finally wakes up, drool gluing his cheek to the living room couch.

His first thought is that he forgot to turn the lights on before he went to sleep, so Delirious stretches like a cat, arching his back and pushing his face further in the couch before even attempting to sit up.

He twists one arm behind his head, popping a shoulder, and reaches with the other for the small lamp next to him.

Flips the switch.

Nothing.

Jonathan frowns, the absolute silence of the house finally settling into him. No hum from the refrigerator. No white noise from the television. No ceiling fans turning in the living room or even the distant echo of the one in his bedroom going.

The house is so quiet, he can hear his neighbors talking as if they were nearly on his doorstep. Voices an indistinct, but clear rumble.

Headlights dance a sharp beam of light through the front windows that he forgot to close, and light up the living room. The inside of his home bared to the whole world for one sudden moment.

Everything is still. Unnaturally so.

The router, plugged in beneath the TV, isn't even lit up. Usually flashing green and orange like it should be, now everything is black.

Darkness.

His heart is beating fast, too heavy to fully catch his breath, and he fumbles around on the small table beside the couch for his phone. Knocking down papers and something weighted that thumps to the ground but what Jon can't remember right now as he finally catches the damn phone with the tips of his fingers as it was sliding right off with all the stupid freaking papers.

Cradles it in his palms, holds it close to his chest with both hands. And hits the power button.

Nothing.

His breath hitches, and he can feel pressure building against the back of his head as the emptiness creeps back in. The edges of his eyes burning. His heart sinking his lungs fighting, drowning for air.

He stands up, dizzy, mouth open, shivers creeping up his spine.

Licks his lips, and swallows. Slides his feet across the floor, hands shaking clear up to his elbows, as if he had been electrocuted.

He bumps into something sharp near the wall, another table probably, and braces himself. His shin stinging, one hand presses his full weight against the wooden wall. Then the other hand beside it as he rests his head on the wall and closes his eyes.

Struggling to breathe. Heart beating unnaturally fast.

Fl-flashlights. Yes. Light, he needs light.

Delirious clenches his eyes shut even tighter, as if by closing them further he could keep the darkness out.

Where are the flashlights?

He bites his lip and shakes his head, unable to move. Leans his full weight against the wall until he is dragging his body down it, falling to his knees, silently crying.

His face scrunches up, brows furrowing, mouth grimacing, tears still running down his cheeks as he tries to force himself to get up, to move. To do _something_ goddamnit.

The wood presses into his forehead, sweaty skin sticking fast.

He grumbles low in his throat, and sinks to his heels. Eyes open in the black, staring at nothing, not even able to see what is right in front of him it is so dark, there is no light.

His heart is thumping in his chest so hard that he is afraid of it beating straight out of his body and onto the floor beneath him.

Tears run down his cheeks and drip steady, one by one, onto his knees.

His mouth moves, but nothing comes out.

.

"Well, fuck this shit," Nogla gripes behind the opening screen for Dead Realm. "How much longer are we going to sit around on our asses waiting for fucking Delirious before we start without him?"

"Ah come on," Brock says. "Maybe he.. maybe he got held up in traffic or something?"

Tyler snorts into his mic. "He has to wait in line to use his computer. Like a bitch going to the bathroom."

Evan chuckles. "Let's. Let's just give him a few more minutes guys, okay? I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"Fuck that!" Nogla yells and hits his desk. "It's already five in the mornin' and I want to get to bed before freaking nine o'clock again. Let's just go without him and if he _does_ show up we can let him in then."

And mumbles under his breath, ' _Not that he's going to.'_

"Nobody told you to stay up so late!," comes from Tyler's end of the call. And then switching tone says, "Come on Evan, just start the fucking game. We've been waiting for hours already. He's obviously not coming."

Evan sighs, and has already hit the button by the time Brock speaks up.

Pleading, "Guys.. just five more minutes?"

"Too late," Nogla says cheerfully. "I'm going to fucking kill some zombi–AHH!" And immediately gets hit. Garbling half-frustrated nonsense as he begs to be saved.

"Sorry Brock," Tyler soothes. Then yells, "Goddamn, already Nogla?! Fucking wait two seconds before going down on a guy will you?" And laughs.

Evan is still a little uneasy at having had to wait so long, but it's not like Delirious hasn't been late to a game before. He brushes off the slight worry and laughing, starts to have fun with the guys.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunlight shines through the sliding glass doors as Delirious walks into the library, the safest place in the whole world he can imagine right now, with his lungs still trying to squeeze themselves out of his chest every move he makes, step he takes.

And the librarian merely nods at him and hands him the pass to log onto the computers as he walks up to the desk, barely able to ask before being read like a pamplet.

Inside the lab there are three people, laughing with each other and all so composed and completely oblivious to his presence that he might as well not even be there.

He feels awkward to his toes for reasons he can't describe, and steps around the group to the computer far in the back, in the corner. And sits down, slipping, falling into the chair so far into a tumble that the people on the other side of the room stare at him with eyes that burn his face red as he looks away.

Pulls up the internet browser, and goes straight to his email.

Waiting for him are two messages. One from Luke, and one from Evan.

His heart beating still too fast from embarrassment, he opens Evan's email first.

 **"Delirious,"** it says. **"Where the hell are you? We waited for hours last night. You were going to play Dead Realm with us, remember? Is everything okay? I haven't heard anything from you since the day before yesterday."**

He inhales sharply, the chair suddenly too small for his body.

 _He fucking forgot._

 **"I'm sorry."** Delirious types back, frowning at the screen. He feels, if possible, even more like shit now than he did before. **"I overslept. We'll have to try again later xD I've got some things to do in town. I'll talk to you later man."**

Then sends it.

There is a hurt deep in his soul, lacing through his body. A pain that is anything but, yet at the same time starts to become, physical as he pulls up Luke's email.

And promptly closes it.

The echoes of _Where are you? Why aren't you answering your phone?_ circling round and around in his head until it leaves him so dizzy that he nearly topples backwards when he stands, knocking the chair back he moves so fast.

He turns and walks quickly out, his head held high, cheeks flushed. And leaves the library.

.

Friday afternoon, so late in the day that every soul in his town is out and about, or atleast seems to be. And Jonathan is standing in line at his local bank, and has been for the last half hour.

He's wearing the same thing he's worn all week; a loose pair of old jeans that have to be cinched with a belt just to promise to stay on his hips, scuffed sneakers and a twenty-times washed Star Wars shirt that still somehow manages to fit.

Everywhere he goes, everywhere he looks, someone is there.

After the almost stifling, perfectly all-consuming quiet of his mother's house, this is a dramatic shock. Tingles roll up and down his spine, eliciting _fight or flight_ responses in his body that make him itch from head to toe, struggling to stay still.

His clothes are obviously wrinkled, visibly used and dirty and even he can smell himself, he has not washed once in the last few days. And the damn line is moving so slowly every single body here must certainly _know_.

His face is pale and still sweaty, his eyes are puffy and red - though he hasn't cried since he left the house. The sudden gust of wind and fresh air breezing instantly to his face and right through him as he stepped out of the door, under-dressed for the cool weather.

Goosebumps grew on his arms but still he marched forward, determined to see things through now that his feet were moving, going underneath him, driving him forward.

He is on a mission.

One person steps away from the tellers, pocketing receipts and paperwork, and the line inches just that tiniest fraction forward.

His lungs open and from the bottom of his heart a sigh escapes as he tries to release all of the tension that's been building up inside him with a single breath.

It doesn't work.

Jonathan feels just as nervous, and off-kilter as if his whole body has been run over by the very truck that took the last of his family–

And he looks around the room, heart still beating wildly, jack-hammering against his chest as he looks from body to body, watching the people around him with such an empty and hungry look that no one will return his gaze.

He can still feel the walls of his mother's house closing in on him, pressing against him from all sides.

Like when he woke up this morning, neck sore and back stiff, face still stuck to the hallway, on his knees.

Morning light breaking through the suffocating black of absolute darkness all around him.

He is surrounded by people now, and yet still feels just as alone as he did back at the house.

A yearning spreads like wildfire, burning through him up from inside, a hunger for something that he won't let words name for him. Words _can't_ yet name for him.

He needs..

He wants..

The line moves forward again and he is impossibly close to the teller, holding the heartbreaking bill that came in the mail yesterday like it was a life preserver that could keep him from drowning in his own emotions.

And Jonathan is standing in line in the bank, on a balmy autumn afternoon on Friday when all the world seems to be awake and about and he just feels so lost and alone that his eyes search out the mothers.

Finds himself gazing longingly at a woman near the entrance who is holding a child too small to walk in her lap, playing patty-cake with his still developing, uncoordinated hands.

Coming in the front doors is another mother, who reaches out to fix her teenagers shirt, scolding and laughing with her child as even Jon can see the embarrassment in the kid's face from where he stands.

And he never before noticed how many mothers there _are_ in the world until he finds himself watching a woman with short hair and delicate earrings and even though she is alone, he can just _tell_.

It's in her presense. That is enough.

The line moves again, and it is suddenly his turn with the teller.

Jon shuffles his feet like he was twelve years old again and ducks his head, approaching the desk.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the words are caught in a voice that hasn't been used for speech in days.

He swallows down the burning anxiety lingering on his spine, clears his throat and tries again.

"Hi." Too soft, not him. Why? He bites his lip, not understanding why he can't say what he wants to say.

"Hello." The teller greets, only glancing once at him before going back to typing on her computer. "What can I do for you today, sir?"

"I.." He steps forward as far as he can go, and leans his arms on the counter, using it to support both his body and his faltering courage. "I need .. to look at my mother's account."

The woman looks up at him. "And your mother..?" Leading him into answering with her location.

Jonathan shakes his head. "She's not with me."

Her face closes down, eyes becoming cold as she searches him with a look. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let you view client account information unless you are the _actual_ client."

And then looking him slowly up and down, taking in the bags under his eyes the way he seems to be leaning on the counter with everything he has and still is half-asleep even though it's the middle of the damn day, insists "I'll need to see your ID."

Then adds the, " _Sir_."

Jonathan blinks, at a complete loss. "I.."

"Your ID, please." And the woman has her full and undivided attention on him, the bank manager taking notice of them from the side of the room, glancing again and again as he pretends to busy himself.

And Jonathan finally realizes how bedraggled he looks, all worn down from head to toe and he has never felt so utterly alone and out of place in his _life_ as he reaches into his back pocket - the woman flinching and sitting up - but he's just pulling out his wallet and taking his driver's license out and laying it on the table and he can't look at anyone anymore can't take this can't _breathe_.

His heart exploding deep inside him as the emptiness and hunger rolls right back up from underneath, where it never really left.

And the woman takes the ID, and is matching it to his unusually pallid face and heavy eyes, taking a good long look at both the old him and the new him and _comparing_.

She doesn't want to believe it's really him, squinting slightly as if by doing so Jon will reveal himself to be a liar and fraud, some kid off the streets trying to get into a stranger's bank account.

The longest of pauses has Jon squirming in his own skin, so eager to get out and escape that all of a sudden he _can't stay still_ and is standing up, leaning forward, shifting one foot and the other, his hands in his pockets, then on the counter. He needs to move. He needs to get _out_.

"Mr. Jonathan Smith," she says clearly and carefully.

"Yes?" He replies, hesitant.

The woman's mouth is moving but the words aren't registering in his mind as she tells him, "We still need to see your mother."

"My.. mother." He almost whispers. "She's dead."

Looks him dead in the eyes, unflinching. "Then I need to see the death certificate."

Jon's mouth moves but nothing comes out.

His skin is melting right off his bones and he doesn't have the faintest idea what he's supposed to do.

"I.." He looks down at the packet of bills and paperwork right under his hands, and gains courage from it alone. "This came in the mail yesterday." And pushes it forward into the woman's waiting hands.

She takes them, taps the papers straight, then starts flipping slowly through one by one, reading carefully.

"If .. If I don't. I can't– That's too much money," he breathes out in frustration. "How am I supposed to pay that off?"

The woman licks her lips, and flips another page, still reading.

Tells him, "The bank will repossess your house if you don't pay off your mortgages."

"You mean _my mother's_ house and _my mother's_ mortgages," Delirious snarls at her, suddenly filled with so intense a rage that he can't find the source.

He's mad. He's angry. He hates her, and every one in this damn building.

The hate boils inside of him, burning his teeth until his lip curls, his face tightens, and his back straightens for the first time in a week.

 _"Take the damn house!"_ Delirious yells, kicks the counter, and runs out of the bank.

The glass doors still swinging shut behind him as he gets in his car, reeves the engine, and barely has the damn thing started before he's already peeling out the parking lot and into the street.

And he drives.

Through town. Past the grocery store. Flying by the playground he and his sister used to hang around all the time when they were little.

The school where he first met Luke flashes out of the corner of his eyes as he roars past at double the speed limit.

His – his _mother's_ house, at the corner of the block, inside still empty and dark and Delirious can fucking smell the isolation and loneliness festering like a disease behind those uncurtained windows.

He doesn't stop.

.

Feet glued to the gas petal, frustration and anger burning him down the highway, Delirious drives all day and well into the night, until he's back in Virginia, near where he once grew up.

His hometown speeds by him.

And still he drives.


	5. Chapter 5

Luke doesn't make it back home until almost five on Saturday, telling himself over and over that he's only speeding down the highway to beat the afternoon rush hour traffic.

He intends on putting his luggage away, making a cup of coffee, and relaxing in a warm shower.

But Delirious still isn't picking up his damn phone, and he's had this terrible feeling worming around in his gut since the last time they spoke and it's all Luke can do to throw his suitcases inside the door before he's back out again and in his car, pulling out into the road again.

It's a forty-five minute drive, but he can make it in half if he _really_ pushes it.

And fifteen minutes later, after weaving in and out traffic like it was a loom and his car the suicidal thread, he is on the right block.

The sun is well into descent, casting long shadows through the surrounding trees and buildings like a painting. Ribbons of black slicing through the muted colors of day.

He knows something is wrong the moment he sees the house.

Delirious' car is missing from the driveway, the only other vehicle on the lot is the mangled mess that's left of Jon's mother's car. It must have been towed back to the house after the accident.

Rear and side panel missing, hood warped and crushed in on itself, the whole body half-curled and crumpled like a kitten around warmth.

There's still blood on the broken windshield and – _Why is it here?_

Pure worry slides like oil down Luke's back as he takes in the sight, the feeling building into a crescendo of action as he parks half on the lawn and half on the driveway, so eager to get inside that he runs out of the car and right to the front door.

Stops.

There's a paper taped to the front door.

 **Bank Owned Property. No Trespassing. Keep Out.**

And lots of legal jumble beneath it that he has neither the _time_ nor _inclination_ to fucking read because this has to be some kind of sick joke and who in the world would really–

The house is dark.

Too fucking dark considering all the streetlights are all lit up and the neighbor's houses glow faintly behind their curtains– Curtains which aren't shut in Jon's house.

If he only left for a moment or two, he should have turned the lights on, closed the living room shades.

It's too fucking quiet.

Luke can feel his body tense up, tighten into knots of stress and _what if'_ s and he opens the screen door, and pressed there between it and the front door is a freaking notice from the damn power company.

Informing him of their intent to shut off the power for past due accounts today.

He barely reads it before throwing it to the side, trying his spare key in the lock, only to find it won't fucking work. The locks have been changed since he came here last _a week ago_.

Something's _seriously_ wrong here, and Luke takes two steps back to aim, then power-kicks the front door open.

It slams into the living room wall, doorjamb splintering fragments all along the carpet and it's too dark to see anything anywhere so Luke pulls out his phone and sets the brightness to high and looks for someone he already knows isn't there but he has to try anyways and maybe he can find the right answer to the question if he just _tries_ hard enough.

There's a table knocked on it's side, a lamp broken on the floor, papers are everywhere and his heart wants to believe this is just the result of a robbery and Jonathan is just hiding somewhere for safety but he knows he's wrong.

 _He knew Jon wasn't fucking fine._

His heart is drumming through his chest as he goes back and forth through the house, looking for clues, looking for a fucking _direction_.

There's nothing.

Jonathan's phone is laying in the middle of the hallway, and Luke trips over it on his third trip around the damn house, bouncing off the wall and landing on his face.

When he turns over to see just what the hell he fell over, he sees it.

Sitting there, so innocent.

His heart stops. Jon would have never left without it. _Nobody_ would leave without the phone, and he reaches over to pick it up, still on the floor, and presses the power button but the thing won't light because it's fucking dead. The battery must have run out ages ago.

He barely remembers to breathe, pocketing the phone and standing up.

Luke thinks for a moment of hanging around, _just in case Jon comes back_ , but he's already been searching through this place for well over an hour with nothing to show for it and that's damn time enough, and he's out the door.

.

He drives through town, fast at first, knowing he'd see in an instant his friend's car. But there's nothing anywhere no matter how hard he tries, how much he looks, and he slows down to almost a crawl, inching along the roads and highways until he's doing 15 miles per hour on a main road with strangers flying pass him and honking their frustrations.

Luke pulls into the parking lot of the local Food Lion, lays his head on the wheel, and shivers.

Intending to rest for just a minute, he passes out, completely exhausted from the stress and worry, the long plane ride, the driving back and forth, and just in general _everything._

He wakes up at dawn, the godawful birds pulling him from sleep before the morning light even hits his eyes, and at first he can't remember where he is, but then he _does_ and everything is still wrong.

Luke rubs his forehead, rubs his eyes, and sighs.

He pulls back onto the street, and drives.

He stops by the house, knowing even before the driveway is in sight that Jon didn't come back, before continuing on down the road.

Still looking.


	6. Chapter 6

At first the way was smooth and clear of obstacles. Delirious could breathe a little easier, relax a little. The steady thrum of his tires dancing across the pavement. the wind rushing past his open windows on this cool late autumn day. Trees flashing out of the corners of his eyes.

The further he got, the better it was.

For awhile at least. Until the memories of when he was little started scratching against the back of his brain. When he and his sister were small and used to go on family road trips with his mom and dad, when he too was around.

The two of them squabbling in the backseat over space, crayons, books, toys. Until their father started drinking while he was driving, and their mother tried to shush the two of them. Reaching over the divide between the seats to play games with them, distract them.

"How many cows can you spot?" And, "How many red cars? Guess where the next gas station's going to be, can you do that?" And so on and so on.

Until they both fell asleep in the back, leaning on each other for support.

The memories itch along the underside of his eyes, and Jonathan has to stop _somewhere_ to catch his breath, it's been building inside of him all this time and he doesn't know _what–_

There's a gas station just up ahead, and he pulls in a little too quick, accidentally cutting off a black sedan in his inattention and rush. Getting honked at by the car, he tries to calm down, he scrapes the side of the curb.

And he has to just sit there, parked haphazardly at the pumps, hands clutching the steering wheel for dear life, and just try to remember how to _breathe_ for a moment. His heart is beating wildly and the car is pulling into the pumps beside him, has to get gas _too_ , and Jon just stays there,

Waits for the other to leave. He is so embarrassed, he doesn't understand why he's acting like this. Usually he's an okay driver, he did alright all the way up here to..

Jon looks around. It's a BP gas station, and there is nothing identifying anywhere around him as to his location beyond that.

To wherever 'here' is.

.

Luke is stiff from being in a car so long, and stops at a small breakfast shop to use the bathroom and rest for a minute.

The diner chimes as he walks into the door, and he just waves at the waitress sitting behind the counter as he walks across the small space to the bathroom, locks the door, and relieves himself.

Rinsing his face under the counter washes some of the sweat and exhaustion away. And he can see the bags under his eyes loosen a little.

Luke sighs. He really needs to go back home and just take a warm shower right now. He really wants to, too. But..

Instead he turns around, and goes back into the diner proper, and walks up to the waitress, who at this point has just finished helping a couple that entered behind him, and pulls out his phone when she stops in front of him.

One press to turn it on, and with two swipes he has a photo of Jon that he spins around to face the girl, asking, "Have you seen this man recently? At all? Anytime?" He pleads, desperately.

The girl shakes her head no. "I'm sorry sweetie. We get a lot of patrons, but I don't remember anyone like that showing up in the last few days. If you feel like waiting, my shift gets over in a half hour and you can ask the night shift if they've seen him."

Luke's whole body droops. He knew it was a long shot, but it was a chance regardless. And he's hungry anyway, so he accepts the offer. "Thanks, I think I will. How're the pancakes here?"

And is seated at the booth.

.

When Jon finally stops for gas, miles away from anywhere and anything he's ever known, he finds that the bank has taken everything. His card doesn't work at the pumps, and using the ATM inside the convenience store tells him why.

He has nothing.

Everything is now gone. His family, his home, and even his goddamn money. HIs car..

He looks up from the machine at said vehicle. There's just a few more miles left on it.

With nothing left to lose, he gets back in the car and keeps driving. Seeing how far it can take him.

How far he can get.

.

While Luke is waiting he pulls out his phone again, and starts looking up phone numbers online. Namely the bank and the power company.

The first call is a complete waste of time, the automatic voice greeting a " _Hello, we are closed right now. If you wish to call us during normal operating hours please try again Monday to Thursday, 9am to 5pm. And on Friday, 9am to 6pm. That's Mond–"_

He cuts the call off before he starts to really get pissed, and tries to power company next.

 _"Hello,"_ the voice starts. " _Our normal operating hours are–"_

Luke drops the phone on the table after hanging up on this one too, and puts his head in his hands and seethes. Of course. Fucking Sundays. Can't get anything done on a fucking Sunday.

The waitress sets his food in front of him and gently touches his shoulder. "You alright there?"

"Yeah," Luke looks up. "I'm just fucking worried. I haven't seen my friend in days and I'm worried about him."

The girl smiles. "It'll be alright. You'll find him, I'm sure of it." And seeing the doubtful expression on Luke's face adds, "I'll ask around where I can if anyone's seen him too. Then it'll be two eyes, and that's always better than one, right?"

Luke just sighs. "Thank you," as the waitress leaves him to his food.

.

And it's almost midnight when he finally gets home, but goddamn he's not sleeping in the car again, that shit is _painful_.

Closing in on his driveway, the sight of familiar objects sends a pulse of calm through Luke's chest, and he relaxes just that bit more. Pulling into the driveway and shutting the car door harder than he'd like, he's too exhausted, too tired.

Stiff and worn from sleeping in his car, from the journeys, the back and forth trips, the _worry_ , the not finding Jon..

He unlocks the front door and steps inside, then promptly trips over his luggage from the day before _that he completely fucking forgot about_ and falls on his face, ass up in the air.

"Fuck!" Luke swears, and rolls off the suitcases. His knees a little bruised now, his ego a little more, and he swears once more out of frustration before getting up and kicking the bags off to the side of the hall instead of right behind the door where they were.

He limps, sulks, down the hallway to where a hot shower has been waiting for him all this time.

And on the way there, passes the room his computer and gaming station is setup in. He stops in the doorway and looks at it. It's a long shot.. but he'll take any chance he can get.

.

It's four in the morning where he's at, and Brian is struggling to stay awake. His head drops again and again to his chest, and he flinches, tries to blink himself alert. Awake.

His mind wandering, asks, "Hey. Where's Delirious? I feel like I haven't seen him in days."

Tyler muttering behind his coffee, "He hasn't been on Twitter much." Looks at Evan. "You hear from him, Vanoss?"

Evan shaking his head. "Hasn't messaged me in days. Last one was Friday saying he had to go into town for something."

And then a notification shows up on all of their screens showing that Cartoonz is online, and they quickly connect him to the chat. Each one of them perking up in their own way, thinking he'll have the answers. Cartoonz will know obviously.

Only Luke is visibly distressed and they're all a little alarmed.

He is slightly out of breath, sits half in and half out of his chair, and says "Guys. I've been looking everywhere. Have any of you seen Jonathan?"

There are circles upon circles of lost sleep under his eyes. His hair is tossed and messy like he hasn't slept in days. And he looks at them a desperation in his face that speaks volumes more than his words ever could.

The group all says no, quietly, worried.

Luke's tired eyes staring at them from the other side of the chat.


	7. Chapter 7

"We could come down and help you look," Evan offers, sitting up straight in his chair, and rubbing one hand over his mouth, thinking.

But Luke refuses instantly. "No. No.. you guys don't even know what he looks like." With an added, "I appreciate the gesture though, thanks." Nodding across the chat at the various faces watching him.

"Well, if you let us see a picture of him we'd know," is Brian's sharply-worded counter argument.

"I can't." Luke bites out, reluctantly. "That's not something he wants."

Tyler presses. "I don't think what he wants is the issue we have right now. Remember? _He_ was the one who ran away." His eyes narrowing.

Luke just sighs and shakes his head. Lets a, "I'll keep you guys updated," be his parting words and disconnects from the chat.

"Geeze," Tyler grumbles to himself. "How hard can it be to find one guy?"

"Apparently pretty difficult," Evan mumbles back.

.

The hot shower felt nice running down Luke's back, and soothed a few of the aches lingering in his body still. The stiffness of poor sleeping spaces dulls to a pale soreness that he can live with, and he rubs his face with soap under the stream of water. More alert now than he's ever been at any one point in these last few days.

He _knew_ something was wrong. Him and Jonathan were friends for years and years and it feels like forever and why the hell did he listen to Jon? Why'd he just take him at his word?

 _'Because he's your friend and you trust him'_ , comes unbidden into his thoughts and he scowls at the truth.

Gets out of the shower, dries himself off with a towel. Stares at the reflection in the mirror, wondering, just where did he go wrong?

Why didn't Jon trust him back? He pretended everything was fine. Why'd he lie? Why'd he feel like he had to run away?

Luke promised to come back. And he always kept his promises. Why couldn't Jon have just waited a few days for him to come home?

.

It's peaceful, driving. The steady thump thrump of tires rolling over pavement. Thrump-a-dump over the metal seams on bridges. Trees and scenery flying past.

Jonathan has always felt more at peace on the road.

Whether it's the sensation of movement in a trapped world, where he is suffocating from the inside out. Or if it's the wind dancing through the trees alongside him, he doesn't know.

But the feeling of serenity takes him over and quiets the desperate craving for things he will no longer have. The heady feeling of depression and anxiety which has been drowning him. The feeling of loss and abandonment he's been drowning in.

There are worms in his belly..

Driving used to relax him, soothe all the worries and thoughts running rampant through his head. And at first it starts to. He feels a little calmer getting in the car, after driving for ten miles, twenty..

But it doesn't last.

There are worms in his belly. Darkness in his thoughts. Coiling up from deep beneath, twisting and ripping through the very heart of him.

Scrambling him into incomprehensible bits.

Anger and frustration. Loss and hunger. Pain that tightens his fist on the steering wheel and presses his foot even firmer against the gas pedal.

He is a bottle, a mess.

He is a container for his own depression, a thing which even now he refuses to admit even _exists_ inside of him. But it is there and it will not wait for his acknowledgment to roar through the very edges of his soul. A sea of aching and longing crashing against the core of him.

And he is driving down I77 East when his eyes start to fog up again with unshed tears, unlet thoughts.

He doesn't want to stop, not now, not ever. So he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, the other clenching tight to the steering wheel.

But it isn't enough.

Pressing harder again and again when the tears only become loosened and freed by the gesture.

They run down both cheeks, both sides of his face, and the road becomes a watery mess.

He can't see. It's impossible.

He can't drive. He can't .. keep going..

There is an exit approaching quickly, and Jon pulls over to it so fast that he cuts off a white minivan that was trying to pass him on that side.

He over-corrects, and the tires thrum over gravel, rumbling over it and throwing it to the side as he rolls of the side of the road.

The car leans, and falls in-between two trees. Perfectly snugged there as if he had parked it that way on purpose.

Jon puts his head down on the top of the steering wheel, covers his head with his arms, and cries. His face pressed into the darkness of his own making. His head buried in his own thoughts.

Sobs racking his body.

.

And he's sitting in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee even though it's almost one in the morning and there's only another long day in store for him, but Luke just can't calm down the thoughts running through his head.

It's useless to try to sleep like this.

Luke stares at the plain white walls of his kitchen, wishing again that he had painted them, or put some kind of wallpaper on them. Because all he can see right now in the white are the nightmares that haunted him while he slept in his car.

Jon's empty house.

Jon's car upside down on the side of the road, fire spewing from the windows and screams coming from inside.

Jon sitting in the shade of a bridge, graffiti on the walls beside him, eyes lost and vacant.

Jon dead.

The mangled mess of his mother's car, with Jon's body added to the inside of it.

Luke closes his eyes and rubs at his face. Trying to press the thoughts away and outside of him. Trying to force them away of his body where they won't consume him anymore.

The worry is eating him up from inside.

He should go to sleep. He should put the cup in the sink and stop drinking fucking coffee. He should go back out there and keep looking until he falls asleep in his car again.

He gets up and heads back to the computer.

Takes another long drink from his mug and finishes off the last of the coffee, and sets it on the table beside him.

Reboots his computer. Listens to the humming of the fans starting up, and pulls out a notepad from the drawer next to him.

Makes a list, a checklist of things to do.

 _Bank_.

 _Power company._

 _Jon's stuff._

Crosses off places in town he's already been too, places he's already searched for his friend.

Puts his head in his hands at stares at the wallpaper on his screen as the computer finishes loading.

There's so much to do, so much swelling up inside of him, that it presses the all-consuming worry and fret to the back of his mind. A place that leaves him better able to think.

The more focused he stays, the easier it is to breathe freely.


	8. Chapter 8

"You mean to tell me he's been missing this whole time?" Tyler yells through his mic.

"Not the whole time just-" Luke is interrupted.

"So how long exactly? Since we last played with him? That was several days ago!" Tyler yells, exasperated.

Luke wants to yell back at him, but he doesn't know how long Jon has been missing either. Instead his face twists with all the things he wants to say. Words that are bottled deep inside of him.

"I've only been gone five fucking days-" He slowly bites out, and is promptly cut off.

"We could have been looking for him from the start," Tyler roars across the line. "Fuck!" He runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I fucking drove home. I could have passed him on the way home and never known. I could have seen him and never known it was him just because you wouldn't tell us what in the god damn hell was going on down there. And now he's gone and we still have no idea where to fucking look because you still won't tell us what he looks like!"

Luke screams right back at him. "It was none of your concern! He said he was handling it and that everything was fine-"

"Well obviously it's not fucking fine if he's run off you fucking moron!" Tyler yells over him.

Evan tries interjecting between the two of them. "Of course it's our concern," He speaks with his hands, and gestures to his chest. "We're his friends too aren't we?"

"Stay out of this Evan," Luke calls out and is steamrolled by a frustrated Tyler.

"That's right! We're his fucking friends too you know! Who are you to keep all this shit to yourself like we're not good enough, not close enough to help?" His fist slamming against his desk makes all the other silent watchers in the chat startle.

"And I was with you there at the con! You could have said something then! You could have said something when you fucking found out about it!" Tyler yells, getting up close to the camera.

"Well I'm just going to fucking drive down there and I'l find him my own damn self then," Tyler hisses.

"You don't even know what he looks like!" Luke cries out.

"That's easy," Marcel says. "Black hair and blue eyes like his GTA character, right?"

But Luke makes this face at the comment, and both Tyler and Evan catch it immediately.

"You mean he's not-" Evan is cut off by Tyler again.

"See! That's the exact thing I'm fucking talk about! Show me what he looks like so I won't have to kick your ass as much when I drive down there. And I am driving down there. I'm going to either find him, and bring him home. Or I'll find you and beat you the fuck up."

Luke seethes, and makes faces. But relents. He's really a pushover, at heart. He was just trying to protect his friend, after-all.

Luke looks around himself for a moment, then just shakes his head in frustration, pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and turns it on. Two taps and he has a picture of Jon pressed against his web cam where the others can see.

A scraggly man with messy dirty blonde hair. The kind that's hard to tell if it's been kept clean or not. And a wide, ear-splitting grin.

Then he hangs up on them. Leaves the chat. Shuts the computer down, and walks out of the room.

.

' _I'm going to need this'_ , Luke thinks to himself, lacing up his most comfortable shoes and sitting at his kitchen again, another cup of coffee steaming on the countertop.

There's a lot of walking to be done in the next few hours, and it doesn't pay to not think ahead for his feet. _It's something to preoccupy himself with at least._

He hops up onto the counter, leans his back against the kitchen cabinets, and enjoys his cup of coffee for a few blessed minutes. Drinking deeply and slowly, inhaling the aroma, before setting the cup in the sink and going outside.

Luke locks his front door and heads for his car. Heads back in the direction his mind has been nonstop circling round and around since he left it behind to toss and turn all through the night in his own bed.

He's going to find Jon and bring him back home, come hell or high water.

.

The first stop is the Police Station, where he had called much earlier, at the end of the very day he had discovered Jon truly missing.

Luke pulls into the parking lot bright and early in the morning, with the birds still singing charming melodies through the air.

He passes only three squad cars and less than a handful of regular vehicles on his way inside, politely holding the glass door behind so it doesn't slam shut.

Stepping up to the main desk. He says, "I need to file a missing person's report."

Is given a sheet of paper. Asking him about any identifying information. Last seen? Where would they go? Has the family been contacted? Distinguishing features? Recent picture?

Luke pulls his phone out of his pocket, and spins it around.

.

 _All the streetlights are on, and the roads are empty. It's a quiet Saturday night._

 _But no matter where he looks all he hears all he sees is the lack of his best friend. The night is dark the world is dark, his heart is heavy and dark._

 _Luke pulls out his phone and calls his own mother, to check in with her before she goes to sleep like he does every night._

 _"Are you home yet?" She asks him._

 _"Not yet momma," Luke admits._

 _"Don't stay up too late sweetie," She murmurs in his ear._

 _"Have you heard from Jon lately?" Her words are laced with sleep, and he can hear the rustling of bedsheets as she lies down. "Poor boy, left all alone. I feel so bad about what happened to his mother and sister."_

 _"I-" Something sticks in his throat at the thought of his own mother in that crumpled wreck of a car. Of Jon laying there alongside the woman who used to make them both brownies in the summer. Let them sleepover._

 _The girl he used to date once upon a time, pushing her the swingsets in the middle of the night with the crickets chirping all around. Roughhousing in the grass behind their house, pulling her hair._

 _Too much misery. Too much death._

 _"Not yet, momma." He manages to get out._

 _"You should call him," She says. "He shouldn't be left alone in a time like this."_

 _"I know, momma," Luke whispers. "Yes momma."_

 _"Goodnight sweetie."_

 _"Goodnight momma."_

 _He hangs up the phone, and just breathes._

 _Carefully. Each inhale long and measured. His chest trembles as he exhales._

 _Breathe._

 _He picks the phone back up, and dials the police station._

 _The line is picked up in the middle of the second ring by a woman with a sharp, raspy voice that speaks quickly._

 _"Thank you for contacting the Chapel Hill police department. If this is an emergency please hang up and dial 911. How my I direct your call?"_

 _"I.. "_

 _"Speak up, please. I can't hear you."_

 _"I need to file a missing person's report," Luke says, sitting in his car in the middle of the night halfway between his house and Jon's. In the parking lot of a Food Lion where all the lights inside are switched off, the roads are empty, and he is the only one around as far as he can see._

 _"You need to come inside for something like that." She starts to say, then rewords, "how long as the person been missing?"_

 _"I don't know!" Luke cries out, exasperated. "You know what forget it, I'll find him my own damn self."_

 _And hangs up._

.

And he is standing in line at the bank when the call comes in, and he pulls out his phone to see that it's Evan on the other side of the line.

"Luke?" Evan asks. "Is everything alright down there?"

"Yeah," the man says gruffly. "I'm just at the bank right now, trying to get Jon's fucking house back."

"His house?" Is the surprised response. "But why? I'd have thought that with Youtube .."

"His father was a gambler," Luke readily admits. "And I guess things were worse off there then either one of them wanted to admit. I mean, I didn't _know_ the guy but I knew he racked up some debts, but I thought it was all taken care of and.."

Luke sighs deeply, the air rattling out of his chest and up through to the other side of the line.

"Hey man," Evan says gently. "Really.. Is everything alright down there? What happened? What happened to Delirious?"

And all of a sudden the teller is clear and it's his turn to step up to the plate, so Luke straightens his back and tells Evan, "I'll talk to you later." Then hangs up on him and steps forward.


	9. Chapter 9

_._

 _"Guys. I've been looking everywhere. Have any of you seen Jonathan?"_

 _"We could come down and help you look."_

 _"I don't think what he wants is the issue we have right now. Remember?_ He _was the one who ran away."_

 _._

And four long hours have passed since they heard the last of Luke late on Sunday night, watching him disconnect so suddenly and abruptly from the chat that Brian didn't even get to finish the thought spilling out of his head before the webcam shut down and _Cartoonz_ was missing from the list of names lining the Skype call. Just a flash of black, and he was gone.

"I wonder what happened," Brian whispers to his computer, brows furrowed and staring at his still character in Dead Realm as the timer continues to count down in the background.

Tyler shakes his head. "There's no telling." Reaching under his desk to pull out a beer and pop it open.

"It's just not like him to .. run away. Not like that, and not tell someone what's going on." Evan protests, flinching at the sudden noise from Tyler's beer in the microphone. "Geeze man, do that a little closer to the mic next time why don't you?"

Tyler grows a toothy grin, leans in close, and burps as loud as he can his lips pressed close to the pop filter of the microphone.

"Yeah thanks," Evan winces and laughs.

Tyler frowns. "We have no idea what's going on down there right now." And takes a long swallow from his beer.

The end timer chime sounds from the game at _00:00_ and echoes for a moment across the chat.

Evan bites his lip, thinking. Then shakes his head and pulls his phone out, still on camera, still recording. Punching in the numbers and holding the phone to his ear as it rings and rings.

"Hey now," Brian speaks up, waving his hand in a downward motion for Evan to put down the phone. "It's late over there right? And he's probably worried sick. I bet he just wanted to crash and go to bed. I'm sure he'll talk to us in the morning, right?"

The noise of his character being unleashed in game slipping behind his words as he tilts his head, hands flat on his desk and says, "Evan, put down the phone. Let him sleep."

And Evan does, still frowning.

Then Nogla comes back into frame, falling into his chair so hard it spins half away from the computer and he has to push himself back, sliding his headphones on and asking, "What did I miss?"

.

An hour later and they haven't made much headway into anything but at least they're playing the game now, even though half the footage being captured isn't usable because it's mentioning Delirious, his name keeps popping up every other word, every sentence almost. And as much as they _don't_ know what's going on they know enough not to let loose to the world that something's going on until they have permission to do so.

But Tyler's footage is half even of that, because his computer keeps locking up in the middle of the game. Forcing him to power off, take another long drink of his beer, and restart. Frowning and rubbing his head, elbows on the desk as he waits again and again for the screen to light back up.

"Something is fucked up inside." He remarks as soon as he's reconnected once again, to the chat.

A cold silence follows his words as the web cams pop up, one by one. Solemn faces staring quietly back at him before Nogla manages to get out the words, "inside.. you, you mean?"

"What? No!" Tyler shouts and swears. "The fucking computer! It keeps shutting down and I'm not going to get anything good–"

"Oh thank God," Brain slaps a hand to chest, talking over Tyler'. "I thought .. I thought there for a moment."

"Yeah me too," Evan agrees, eyes wide. Then laughs lightly with relief, shaking his head. "This has got us all so tense. Hey, man, don't worry about it. I'll send you whatever footage you need."

"I want _my_ footage," Tyler complains, logging back into the game. "I swear if this gets corrupted again I'm just going to leave you guys and go to bed."

.

And it's finally four in the morning, with shadows of the sun just beginning to rise from the window behind Tyler, all gentle pinks and stretches of gold and warm soft colors inching across his room and highlighting his face. And Tyler has been up all night fighting to stay connected, to keep his footage, just to stay online. Bottles of beer lining the floor under his computer as he reboots for the last time.

The notification popping up in the corner of his screen as the chat starts to load and load and, it's Cartoonz.

He's back.

Tyler sends him a message instantly, makes a private connection, rubbing his face to stay awake while the group chat fails to connect and retries yet again.

Then all of a sudden Luke's face is on his screen, eyes dark and swollen and hair every which way as if he hadn't caught an inch of sleep since the last they spoke, looking dead on his feet and still worried sick.

Tyler looks deeply at him, and asks. "Did you find Delirious yet." Not so much a question as he can see the evidence stacking up before him, but something he wants so badly to be wrong about anyways.

"No," Luke admits, rubbing as his face and letting the skin stretch as he slides his hand down.

The connection fails again, and Tyler absentmindedly hits _retry_ as he can't take his eyes off Luke, face falling into a side-long look as he tries to roll things through his mind and asks bluntly, "What happened? He ran away right? You guys get into a fight or something?"

But Luke is too quiet, sitting there on the other side of the line with all the weight of the world drawing on his face, shoulders drooping and hunching inwards as he tells the truth of the matter, giving the words away like it will give the guilt away biting inside of him.

"Jon's mom and sister died, last week. About when we were in that con. Something to do with a car crass, and he _said_ everything was fine when I called but I haven't heard anything from him at all since the last day I talked to him and that was _Wednesday_ and it's fucking _Monday_ now and I looked everywhere I could think of but I just can't find him anywhere."

Tyler goes cold. His spine could be made of steel, nothing less would move him.

Then Evan sends him another invite to rejoin the group chat _and it finally fucking_ connects and Luke is accepting the same call at the same time and all of a sudden Tyler is screaming at the top of his lungs as his friends faces pop up on his screen one by one, web cams flickering into view surprise echoing across each of them.

Startled by his loud voice but knowing better than to interrupt him when he's like this.

.

 _"You mean to tell me he's been missing this whole time?" Tyler yells through his mic._

 _._

Sitting there, staring at the blank space where a web cam used to be. Where a picture flashed across their screens for two seconds, and was gone.

"Evan.." Brian starts, slowly, as if the question he is asking is a flavor he is reluctant to part with. "Are you still recording?"

Nogla blinks and sits up straight, hands on the armrest of his chair. "Wait, what? You were still recording? Evan!"

"Hey now!" Evan starts to protest, palms out in front of the camera as if could ward off his friends.

"Of _course_ he was still recording," Tyler rolls his eyes. "When is Evan not recording?"

"Ah come on," Evan grins and tries to laugh it off. "It's kind of our job, you know?"

"Well, yeah but, that was all kind of.." Nogla trails off.

"That was fucking personal," Brian finishes.

Evan sighs, slow and deep, the air sliding out his chest so softly it could be a lullaby. "Yeah, I know."

There is dead air between them. Radio silence as no one is really sure what to say, what to do to rectify a situation where someone they know but have never actually seen face to face is gone.

Missing.

"You were recording," Tyler begins.

"I think we established that!" Evan shouts, his tone betraying the frustration he feels at being singled out. At being left out of the loop, not knowing where Delirious is, what's happened to him.

"Are you still recording?" Nogla asks, gently accusing. "I mean you're not going to use that in footage or any–"

Evan interrupts. "Look! I've stopped, okay? I've turned it off already, alright? What more do you want?"

Tyler continues his thought. "You got that picture of Delirious right?"

There is static in all their faces as one by one the eyes of his friends meet Tyler's and pierce into him.

"You're not going to try and post that, are you?" Comes from Brian. Head tilting as he squints into the camera.

"He's still our friend," Says Nogla. Mouth forming words he doesn't voice as he continues to think the situation over.

"I do," answers Evan. "Why?"

Tyler looks straight at Evan, solemn. "I want that picture."

"Why?" Evan wants to know. "Are you really going down there? You don't know his address do you? I know _I_ don't." And gives a glance to the rest of the web cams.

Brian shakes his head.

Nogla says, "I haven't a fucking clue."

"It doesn't matter," Tyler pushes the topic aside. "Because he's obviously not at his house now is he? But you do have it, don't you? Send it to me. I'm going to need it."

And logs off the chat. Saves what footage he can, and shuts down the computer.

.

He doesn't know exactly where Cartoonz lives, but he knows which city and which state and he knows how to get there, he knows how to drive and he's pretty damn sure he can figure out the fucking rest on his own.

Tyler gets up from his desk, just a _little_ drunk, and is already swaying on his feet.

"Fuck," he swears, and tries to figure out how he's going to do this when already there are two doors starting to form to exit his bedroom when he knows there's only supposed to be one.

Then the phone rings.

He swears again lightly, as he pulls it out of his pocket and answers the call. "What Evan? You didn't send the picture."

He can hear Evan rolling his eyes across the line, the man is so predictable. "It's sending now. But have you thought this through at all? Where are you going to stay? How are you going to find him? What about Kino and Archie?"

Tyler glances at the dogs lounging on the bed, who look up at the attention as if they knew they were being talked about.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "But I'll figure it out."

"Delirious wouldn't just run away," Evan starts, searching for an answer.

"To be honest though," Tyler answers. "We don't really know that. I mean, we know the guy, yes of course, we've all played tons of online games with him and stuff," he continues over the protest he knows is building on the other side of the line. "But that isn't enough to really get to know a person. To find out what makes them tick. You've gotta sit down with them, be right there beside and _know_ them to figure it out. But none of us have been able to do that. At least, no one except for Luke. And he wasn't worried."

There a moment before Evan speaks up. "I don't accept that." Biting the words out like they were rotten fruit stuck between his teeth.

"Me neither," Tyler whispers. "Send me the picture, and I'll find him."

He looks to his dog, who perks up, tail wagging, ready for adventure. "I'm the closest one of us to reach them after all."


	10. interlude

footsteps echo down the hall  
like sand

down the stairs down the steps  
and down you go  
alone

alone  
the rooms are too big there is too much  
space

between you and the wall  
not enough  
air  
to breathe

the silence suffocates you  
burrows  
deep down  
inside your throat where  
words  
should be but instead there is only

darkness

multiplying and dividing  
simple math problems that aren't so simple when they're  
happening to you

and you're scared

your footsteps echo  
sand  
grains of granules of sand

shifting beneath you  
taking your feet  
out from  
underneath

falling down

the shadows combine  
speak  
from the corners of from the edges of  
the world

surround you

you will be buried here

between the darkness and isolation  
underneath  
all your nightmares and exhaustion

weary nights and draining days  
dragging

dreams that rip out the very  
heart of you

leave you waking  
soaked  
to the bone bare down to  
the core

shaking

afraid  
of everything and nothing all at once and  
how

are you supposed to live  
like this?


End file.
